


Day in the Life of a Tragic Assasin

by Elivira



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Coffee, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton-centric, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Drinking, Fury is an Omnipotent Bastard, Gen, Hearing aids, Nick Fury is Not Amused, SHIELD, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 08:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10272020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elivira/pseuds/Elivira
Summary: Clint Barton starts his day drinking coffee, forgetting to put in his hearing aids, missing the dog barking to be let out, and ignoring Kate as she eats all his food. He end it in a dive bar in the ass end of town hustling truckers out of their money. Somewhere in there he goes on missions, saves the world, and remembers to let the dog out. And really the next day is probably going to go just about the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda a Hawkeye Comic/MCU Fusion, set at an indeterminate point in the timeline. I just opened notes on my phone one day and started writing and then this happened. 
> 
> Thanks to HunterPeverell for beta reading! She's so great!

Clint Barton is a tragedy (and he knows it). He lives is a small hole-in-the-wall apartment that is almost definitely owned by the Russian mob, more often that not spills his coffee on the table when he tries to pour it into his mug, and sometimes he forgets to put in his hearing aids so he misses the dog barking to be let out and it shits on the floor.   
  
And for a world class marksman, he's really fucking clumsy.   
  
Clint rubs at his head and tries to ignore Kate laughing at him from her seat at his kitchen table. He grumpily mops at the puddle of coffee with a paper towel.   
  
"Ya know, in my defense, whoever designed that cabinet to stick out like that, is a fucking moron." He says, shooting Katie a grouchy look.   
_  
__And it's not that funny,_ he signs when she shows no sign of stopping, hands moving quickly because he knows Kate can barely understand him when he signs slowly and he's a bastard like that. _Also, you sound like a donkey._   
  
She huffs at this, shooting him a glare. Maybe he should give her ASL skills more credit.   
  
His hearing aid makes an unhappy beeping noise and he's reminded why hates the fucking thing. He has another pair that he wears on missions that SHIELD gave him, but he refuses to wear them around the house on principle of pride, preferring to wear the pair he's had since god-knows-when that break more often than not.   
  
He taps at it unhappily and when it doesn't stop, he pulls it from his ear. It's always shocking to take out his hearing aids, Especially just one. It makes him feel unbalanced. He takes the other one out for good measure.  
  
Well you're an idiot, Kate signs.   
  
He tosses the aids at the table--maybe that's why they keep breaking--and ambles to his bedroom to fish out his SHIELD issued pair.   
  
He sees Kate's lips moving out of the corner of his eye but ignores her in favor of burying his face in his coffee mug as he walks.   
  
It's a nice mug, he thinks. It's old and chipped with a Captain America shield on it and it makes Natasha smirk and threaten to tell Steve that Clint is a fan. He’s not really and doesn't particularly care what Nat tells Cap because fuck that, it's his favorite mug (well it's his only mug, but his lack of proper dishware is besides the point).  
  
He finds them in a small box underneath a dirty mission shirt that's buried underneath his quiver and flicks them on before fitting them into his ears. The world becomes much louder, the sounds of cars outside and Kate putzing about on the kitchen greeting his ears.   
  
"Those are much nicer." Kate notes when he appears back in the kitchen, stealing her chair, the only chair while she searches through his cabinets for something. "Why don't you wear those all the time? Do you have any cups?" She looks hungrily at the half empty coffee machine.   
  
Clint snorts, ignoring her comments about his aids. "Yes."  
  
"Well?" Kate looks at him expectantly. "Where are they?" She slams closed a cabinet and turns toward him his her arms crossed.   
  
"In my hand." Clint says and exaggeratedly slips at his coffee.   
  
Kate glares.

“I think there's a bowl somewhere, you can emulate Lucky.” Clint quips.

* * *

 Sometimes people wonder how his hearing aids work. He's deaf, Clint'll mention and they won't believe him.

To understand how his aids work (because hearing aids aren't a magical fix it for most people), you have to know that Clint wasn't born deaf, there isn't anything wrong with his ears, per say-- well, except for the major hearing loss in both of them.

To be honest, he's got forty percent of his hearing remaining in his right and, like, zero in the left.

The only thing he'll say about that is that his father was a right asshole and maybe sonic arrows were a bad idea. He was already hard of hearing before the never-to-be-spoken-about-sonic-arrow-incident, but now his hearing is shot to hell.

Basically, his aids work like they would for anyone with minor hearing loss, but louder. Kinda, he thinks, he didn't really ask for the specifics when SHIELD issued them. There's probably like alien tech in them, or something invented by some top secret scientist (who, if Clint knew their name they'd kill him, Avenger or not).

His old pair work less effectively (when they work at all) and he only ends up catching every other word or so. Usually, he ends up relying on a mix of common sense and his shitty lip reading skills to piece together what people are saying unless the person is yelling _really_ loud. They're bulky too, go behind and inside the ear, making it really obvious he has them on, unlike the other pair that fit nicely in his ear. They're bright purple, though, and that almost makes up for it.

But really, even his SHIELD aids aren't perfect. There's still the fact the background noise doesn't want to stay in the background and he has to take them out to shower and sleep.  It not the same as it was before his asshole of a after thought it'd be a good idea to box his ears whenever Clint talked back and he knows it never will be again.

It’s really no wonder to ran off to join the circus.

* * *

 "No, Lucky," Clint grumbles, pushing the dog away from the door with his foot as he tries to slip past him into the hallway.

He closes it behind him and turns the key in the locks, making sure to get the lock on the knob and the two deadbolts for good measure. He fixes the strap of his quiver to stop it from digging painfully into his shoulder and checks that his bow is securely attached to his back as he takes the stairs to the street.

Kate had left after coffee, off to do whoever the hell knows what, and now he's got to stop by SHIELD for a mission debrief.

It cold out, snowing lightly, and the streets of Brooklyn are dusted with it. It's actually rather pretty.

His car is where he left it (he knows that one of these days it's gonna be gone and he’ll have to take the metro to work), and he slides the key into the ignition happily. It rumbles to life without problem and he thanks whomever might be listening that it didn't choose today to act up.

(He didn't used to believe in any higher being or beings but after Thor came crashing to the ground he's not going to discount anything, better safe than sorry.)

The wipers are also working today and he uses them to clear the thin sheet of snow off of the windshield before putting the car into gear and driving to the NYC SHIELD office.

* * *

The debrief is for a solo mission, apart from the Avengers, a run-of-the-mill locate and shoot right here in New York, and another notch to add to Hawkeye's kill record.

He gets back late afternoon  and Fury drones on and on at the debrief about how he should have filled out a certain paper a certain way and Clint surreptitiously turns off his aids.

Silence, blessed silence. Clint nods occasionally so that Fury thinks he's still listening, and let's him mind wander.

Lucky needs his shots, Clint thinks, and he really needs to buy dishes. Maybe food too.

Fury moves to stand and Clint is pulled out of his thoughts. Fury's mouth moves in what Clint takes to mean the meeting is over and he stands as well, watching Fury move towards the door.

Fury turns in the doorway and stops. _Next time, Agent Barton, don't turn your fucking aids off. Be in tomorrow for a mission briefing with the Avengers._ He signs easily, using the name sign that Natasha uses for Clint, the motion for “hawk” instead of his name.

Fucking hell, Clint thinks. "Sir, I wasn't aware you could sign." (And isn’t this just the day for signing related revelations?) He says and by the look on Fury's face he can tell he misjudged the volume. There goes all the secret conversations he's ever had with Natasha in Fury's presents.

Fury just glares at Clint with his single eye and sweeps out of the room.

"Well shit," Clint says in what's he hopes isn't a too loud voice as soon as Fury is out of sight, "fucking shit."

* * *

 Clint spends the night in a dive bar in Hell's Kitchen cheating idiots out of their money until he gets kicked out.

It goes like this: he sets up an empty beer bottle on the end of a table and flicks pistachios into the opening. He starts out like he's struggling and makes a big deal when he gets one in until someone starts watching. If they’re enough of a moron, Clint then goads them into making a bet. It doesn't matter what the bet is about as long as it has to do with Clint's aim. Then Clint losses the first time, (maybe the second if his opponent is stupid enough), bets double or nothing and then he sinks every one.

It's easy. And it's more subtle than hustling at darts.

He calls Natasha as soon as he leaves the bar.

“Fucking Fury can sign.” He says without a greeting.

Natasha’s face on his phone screen frowns. “Hello to you too.” She says primly.

Clint grunts. “Fucking Fury though...”

Natasha rolls her eyes, “You really didn’t think he’d learn?”

Clint huffs.

“Don’t be a child Clint.” She chides.

“But... Fury?” Clint says intelligently, and he may be more drunk than he’d thought.

“I’ve called you a cab,” Natasha tells him, “it’ll be there in five. Use it and go to bed, we’ve got a mission briefing in the morning.” And she hangs up.

Clint frowns at his phone, willing her to come back.

She’s right though, Fury wouldn't have been able to put up with his asset knowing something he didn’t for long. It was only a matter of time before he learned, really, when Clint thinks about it, Fury’s probably known for years. The cab comes in exactly five minutes and he gets in, tells the driver his address.

The drive is slightly nauseating and the cabbie keeps looking at him nervously as if he thinks Clint is gonna vomit. He doesn't though, and they arrive at his building without incident.

Once in his apartment, Clint takes out his aides and and used his dirty coffee mug to wash down an aspirin and a hot pocket in an attempt to ward off a hangover.He down the water in one gulp, refills it, and places the full cup next to his bed and thinks that it’s a bit pathetic that he’s so good at this.

He finally collapses into bed and is asleep before his heads hits the pillow.

* * *

 He wakes up the next morning feeling rundown and tired, his head pounding and figures that today is gonna be a lot like yesterday.


End file.
